


Carry Your Throne

by onotherflights



Series: Past Lives [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ancient History, Character Death, F/M, Genderswap, Implied Sexual Content, Miscarriage, Multi, Multiple Partners, Non-Explicit Sex, Polygamy, Voyeurism, cisgender female Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onotherflights/pseuds/onotherflights
Summary: Otabek Altin had been the brave ruler of their kingdom for ten years, and he had twice that number of children between his wives. He had won two wars, and united the tribes of the east mountains who had been enemies for decades. His court and his citizens were devoted to him in thousands, and yet he was still solely devoted to one.Barren and born foreign, Otabek’s favorite wife was still his first.Yuri, the cold queen.Or; Otabek and Yuri are connected by an invisible and infinite red thread, and therefor exist in infinite lifetimes together where they always find each other. Here are the stories of eight of those lifetimes.





	Carry Your Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Another day, another alternate universe. What's canon? I don't know her. Please review the tags to avoid confusion, and let me know if I forgot anything!
> 
>  
> 
> This series will be in 8 parts, roughly going through points in history to reach the present/canon. Each could be read alone but they all connect in both obvious and subtle ways because... me.

 

Everyone knew the king had a favorite of his wives. 

The difference between the women was obvious when looking upon them together, seated with straight backs on the velvet cushions in the throne room on each side of the ornate golden chair. They were all beautiful, all seven of them. His third wife Airlea had the most enchanting form; voluptuous breasts and wide hips, the almond color of her curls the most desired in the kingdom. Naturally, she had the most of his children, many of them sons. Leda was the youngest of them, but the most lively. She enjoyed bringing the children into the field during the summer, returning to the palace when the sky was the color of the pink wildflowers she laid at the king’s feet. In the third spring that she was able, Leda presented the king his first surviving daughter, and it was the first time he had smiled (publicly) in years. 

In the throne room, the king’s place was fitting of his rank. A strong slab of marble brought in from the southern isles made the base of the chair, and all along its surface small leaves of gold were carved and painted. Each of his wives had emerald velvet cushions to rest at his side, matching gold leaves stitched into the fabric, the same that adorned their gowns. 

Only one of the wives wore the same crown of leaves that adorned the head of the king. His gold and interspersed with metallic thorns, hers silver and decorated with emeralds the shade of her eyes, the color of their royal family. Where the other wives all had shades of brown hair and the sun-kissed skin that was expected of the region, her blonde hair was nearly as pale as her skin. She did not posses the figure of the other wives, her frame so slight it looked as if her hips would crack should she ever carry a child to term. Her offerings to the temple and the hours of praying with her forehead pressed to the marble floor, her arms flat out in front of her with palms facing up, had all been fruitless. The gossip of the town was that the Gods had cursed the King’s first wife because she was the only queen who had been born of a foreign court, and her people were naturally very cold according to legend. When the previous king had married his first son to a woman of another kingdom in order to secure a political allegiance, there had been speculation that it was a temporary situation, that surely the pale woman would be dealt with by the time the first son ascended to the throne. 

The old king had passed, and for many years the pale queen had enjoyed her place beside the new king. Only, her seat was different from the others. She placed herself closer, nearly in front of the king rather than behind him. Instead of a respectable distance, she sometimes would lean into his body, resting her golden head in his lap if it so pleased her. It clearly pleased the king, because he would stroke her hair as if she were a treasured pet in front of the entire court.

Otabek Altin had been the brave ruler of their kingdom for ten years, and he had twice that number of children between his wives. He had won two wars, and united the tribes of the east mountains who had been enemies for decades. His court and his citizens were devoted to him in thousands, and yet he was still solely devoted to one.

Barren and born foreign, Otabek’s favorite wife was still his first.

Yuri, the cold queen. 

  
  
  


~ ` ~ ` ~

  
  


The fire was warm, the wood crackling and filling the room with a natural fragrance. Yuri lay in her natural state as well, her husband beside her. 

“Teo is progressing well.” Yuri murmured, her pale fingers dancing over the scars that ruined a few spaces of Otabek’s chest. He had fought two wars and had the markings to prove it, but he had always returned to her. He had always returned to lay beside her, the way he did now. 

Teodora was the second daughter of his fifth wife, and Yuri was teaching her to dance. They’d spend hours in the great hall, their long hair flowing and their feet bare on the cool tiles. Teo’s own mother was on bedrest, and Yuri had taken a liking to the child. 

Otabek chuckled, lazily stroking the valley of Yuri’s back. “I will need to request a court performance soon.”

They didn’t talk about the fact that Teo was not theirs, only Otabek’s and another woman’s. They didn’t talk about the fact that all of his children were second and third heirs, that no first heir had been born any bigger than the palm of Yuri’s hand, if they had been born at all. 

It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. They were still sweating from their exertions and from the heat of the fire across from their bed, but they were both too comfortable to stand and put it out. Besides, potential lay between Yuri’s thighs, so she was hesitant to move. 

A knock on the door of the chambers disturbed their soft conversation. Otabek made to cover himself, expecting a servant, but Yuri pulled the sheet back.

“No need for that, love. I invited Leda for the night.”

As if by confirmation, Leda peeked through the door, her brown eyes wide. 

She closed the door behind her, quickly walking to the center of the room and kneeling on the floral carpet in front of the bed, her palms raised. 

“My king.”

Yuri watched her husband’s reaction, the light of the fire reflecting in his eyes. He made no move to reach out to his other wife, rather it was Yuri who sat up and held her palms out to Leda, inviting the other woman into their bed. 

All the king’s wives had their own apartments, complete with rooms for their children and their servants and their children’s teachers. All, that is, except one.  Yuri hadn’t slept in her apartments since the night of her arrival in the kingdom, before their wedding. 

Leda made her way over in her bare feet and her night dress, so thin it was almost translucent in the warm light. Yuri held her hands where they met, smiling as the younger woman sat next to her on the bed. 

If Yuri was Otabek’s favorite, then Leda was certainly Yuri’s favorite. Otabek’s second wife had once tried to poison Yuri’s wine so that her own children would become the first heirs. When Leda had tried to kill her, she at least had the decency to say it to Yuri’s face. They quickly formed a friendship. 

Traditionally, the king would invite one of his wives to visit his chambers, and then afterward escort her back to her room on the other side of the grounds. The court would then perform their long held ritual of gossip, speculating that a new heir was sure to come. Between the wives, they knew tradition to be false. The king did not extend invitations into the royal marriage bed, but his queen certainly did. 

Yuri brushed Leda’s long and dark hair back from her shoulders, and leaned in close to press a soft kiss to her lips. She gave a breath of sweet air, carrying the perfume of flowers when Yuri kissed her again, deeper. 

Finally, they parted, and Yuri guided Leda’s hands over to Otabek’s hips. 

“Kiss him, then pleasure him,” Yuri instructed, lying back against the pillows to watch.

Following the first instruction was easy enough. Leda crawled over the king, straddling his legs and leaning forward, placing a soft kiss to his lips. Yuri had kissed her and now she was kissing him, and it was like an indirect kiss between them, with Leda in the middle.

After the first task was completed the young woman hesitated, her eyes traveling from the strong emeralds of Yuri’s eyes to the unreadable pair that were as brown as her own.

“May I, your grace?” 

Otabek nodded, and watched his wife crawl down the bed and lower her head once more. 

“Yura,” he murmured, turning his head to watch her watching Leda’s movements with a critical eye. “Why do you indulge me this way?”

Yuri was watching Leda, making eye contact with her every so often before she would flush with color and look back down and doing her best to follow her instructions to pleasure the king. His body was beginning to react, but his eyes were on Yuri.  

“Because it indulges me as well,” She answered coyly, finally turning her pale head and cupping Otabek’s cheek in her soft hand. 

Yuri wondered how many men and women would kill to be where she lay, with Otabek’s face against her palm, and be able to either kiss or kill the young king. A few had tried, but Otabek always returned, and Yuri always slept at his side. 

She had a good feeling about that night. Her altar at the temple had been decorated beautifully, and Leda radiated a powerful feminine energy. If they were to become pregnant on the same night, their children would be true siblings, bonded by the phase of the moon they were conceived under. 

Yuri kissed her husband, his affection trailing down her neck as she kept on watching Leda. 

“Slow down, petal,” She would chide softly. Once she was satisfied, she gave Leda her next instruction, to stop. She told Leda to lift her night dress, and seat herself on top of the king.

Still by his side, Yuri watched as another woman made love to her (or rather, their?) husband. Leda followed everything Yuri said, moving her hips the way she was told to, touching the man beneath her only when she was instructed to do so. There were three sets of eyes in the bed chamber, and both pairs of brown were staring intently at Yuri, entranced by the quiet magic of her. She simply lay there, knowing the power she held. Nothing in the kingdom truly happened without it first being Yuri’s idea. Of course, there was just one thing she couldn’t control. 

Afterwards, Leda lay with them. Yuri, still naked, was on Otabek’s right. Leda, having pushed her gown back down and covered up modestly with the sheet, was on his left. 

Yuri kissed her goodbye and Otabek led her by candlelight back across the palace. 

She fell asleep praying, and waiting for Otabek to return to her. 

  
  
  


~ ` ~ ` ~

  
  


A month later, Yuri invited Leda back to the king’s chambers. Otabek was away and Yuri had no one else to console her in her devastation. Despite all of her prayers and offerings in the temple, she lay bleeding. She was crushed under the weight of another failure, another month passed that she had not been able to conceive the future king. 

She invited Leda, who usually began around the same time of the month that Yuri did. She hoped they could wallow with each other, perhaps lay in the garden or sit in on the children’s singing lessons in the great hall. Ironically, when she had just been praying for them both to have children, Yuri wished that her friend would be bleeding as well. 

Leda knocked softly, and entered. She was glowing, and wearing white. 

Yuri had been crying since Otabek had left that morning, not wanting to show her tears in front of him. When he returned from the travel, he would find his wife still in their bed, weeping. 

  
  


~ ` ~ ` ~

 

Yuri stopped bringing offerings to the temple. 

She drank more wine and read poetry in the baths, alone. She danced in front of the mirror until her feet bled the way that she did, month after month. 

She stopped caring. She took archery lessons, made herself stronger. She could shoot the very core of a target from a further distance than any of the ladies of the court, and many of the men. Otabek stood against a tree with a peach balanced on top of his head, and Yuri shot an arrow straight through the pit, the sweet juice of it pouring out. 

“You have the grace of a woman,” He told her one night when she was making love to him. “And the eyes of a soldier.”

She smirked, waiting until she had him on the edge to speak. “All women are soldiers.”

Otabek adored her more than ever before. He wanted her every night, devoting himself to her pleasure as if she were the new temple, the new God.

Eventually, she stopped sending invitations to the other wives. They had enough heirs. 

She began to feel less empty, because life around her was full. 

Then, unexpected as the summer rain, her prayers were answered.

  
  


~ ` ~ ` ~

 

The baby was born with hair pale as the snow that fell outside the palace walls. He cried out loudly, announcing to the court and the kingdom that finally, the first heir had been born. 

He didn’t stop crying, and nothing could be done to comfort the young prince. 

“The heir will survive the night,” They said. “The queen will not.”

The room had been cleared, the doctors and midwives (along with the king’s wives) having all resigned themselves to what had been fated.

In their bed, Otabek still held on tightly, a trembling and pale hand between his own. The king had been crying, a swirl of immense joy and grief. 

“I will not allow you to leave me,” He murmured, kissing Yuri’s hand. “I cannot rule alone.”

“I know,” Yuri said, her skin tired and her body weaker than she had built it to be. She managed to smile. “Perfect time to begin training your first heir.” 

A fresh wave of sorrow hit Otabek. He couldn’t fathom raising their son without Yuri beside him. How would their son ever know how strong his mother was? How would he ever know how much Yuri had wanted him, how much she loved him? To be a mother was to sacrifice, and Yuri had given the ultimate sacrifice to ensure her only child would be remembered as the new king. 

“Do not think of this as goodbye, my love,” She whispered, struggling to hold on and finish her last words. In those last moments, she prayed her next life would not be so painful. “I will see you again, in another time. My eyes will be the same. You will wait for me. For now, tell him our story. Do not rush to meet me on the other side.”

"Yura, please," Otabek begged helplessly, his voice shaking as much as Yuri's cold hands were. "Stay with me."

"I will," Yuri promised. "This is only the beginning, Otabek."

The queen closed her eyes, and Otabek’s agonized sobs were the only sound heard from the king’s chambers for the rest of the night. 

In the morning, they took her body away. Otabek left his chambers, finally, having spent the night awake at Yuri’s side. She had been at peace, with the king at her side. 

Otabek found their son with his nurse, and he quickly sent her away.

He held their son in his arms and kissed his pale hair, tears still wet on both of their cheeks. Still, the morning was silent. 

The sun was rising and melting the fresh snow. He stood there for hours, holding the entire future of their kingdom in his arms. They had built the kingdom together, regardless of what history would go on to say. 

He would keep his promise to Yuri, that was a given. Their son would know his mother's strength, would be raised to be a better king than his father and grandfather before him.

It wasn't enough. 

Otabek lay his son down, and picked up the quill. He began to write. 

  
  


History would not remember her as the cold queen, as she had been called in her lifetime. History would remember her as the goddess of beauty and strength. 

History would recall her for the constellation of stars named in her honor. 

When Yuri and Otabek would next meet, as had been promised, a particular collection of stars watched over them, one star in the north shining the brightest. 

_ “You see, my love? We will always find each other _ .  _ Our forms may change, but we will always be together, in each life. I told you it was only the beginning, remember?” _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit I'm a little bit nervous about this series, so please let me know what you think! Is it cool for me to play with their genders? Because on the low I'm outlining a lesbian 1950s part for this series... anyone interested? 
> 
> Also, if you'd like to support my writing, talk to me, or even be my friend (please....) visit me on tumblr, same username!


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